


Telling the Bees

by shiplocks_of_love



Series: Telling the Bees [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Sherlock is a softie, Sussex, my boys will be happy dammit, telling the bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplocks_of_love/pseuds/shiplocks_of_love
Summary: He turns again to the cottage and takes a deep breath, his senses filling with the soft buzzing of bees, the rustling of leaves and the sweet aromas of wildflowers. He takes one step, then another.A short, soft epilogue to "The Death and Resurrection of a Beekeeper".
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Telling the Bees [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064132
Comments: 27
Kudos: 71





	Telling the Bees

'It's not the most obvious of paths for us to undertake, I realise. I certainly never thought I would end up in such a situation myself. But… it's the right thing to do. Isn't it?' Sherlock pauses.

Does he have any lingering doubts? The soft hesitance in his question could induce a listener to assume so.

He doesn't, though. He's never been one to understand what the "right thing to do" is, anyway. It presumes the world can be categorised into "things that are right" and "things that are wrong", and Sherlock has seen too many crime scenes to fool himself with such categorisation.

'It _is_ the right thing to do. And I must be the one taking the step. That's why I am here today, telling you this. It's important.'

Silence follows. Sherlock isn’t expecting an answer anyway, so he presses onward.

'John will not do it himself. Not for lack of will, I am certain. He has a… lingering doubt that I would be willing to take this step. Moreover, his previous experience in this field was not a happy one. And I think that, despite all that has happened since we became a couple, he still thinks he’s beneath me. Beneath us. That he'll never make up to me, to what happened, regardless of any reassurances I might give him. He doesn't see himself as I see him. He is kind and gentle and a devoted father and partner. He is courageous and strong. And easy on the eye,' Sherlock cannot avoid the smile blooming on his lips, 'but he just…'

Sherlock sighs. It's been almost two years since they started a journey of healing and forgiveness. Both have a baggage of self-loathing and insecurity they have been trying to shed, as John tries to prove himself worthy of Sherlock's love at every possible instance, and Sherlock tries to show (and prove to himself) that he has come to love himself as much as he loves John.

Because that had been, in essence, the problem from the very start, hadn't it? Sherlock sacrificing himself over and over for a man that was bound to slip away from between his fingers. It was only when he had retreated to Sussex that Sherlock figured out he had gone the wrong way about it. When John had reached out through a (at first unread) letter and then a thunderstorm-framed visit, Sherlock had at last understood his path to healing could not be a lonely one, at least not the whole way through.

They needed each other to move on. Together. 

'It has to be me showing him that the last hurdle has been flown over. That we have grown close together, that it is not a unidirectional flow of affection and sentiment. That I am not giving him just the right amount of scraps from myself to keep him close enough but not one hundred percent _in_. So, I am going to show him, with this gesture, that I am committed. Fully, wholly. Permanently.'

A light breeze chooses this moment to ruffle his hair, a few streaks of grey stubbornly trying to swirl out of the carefully coiffed dark curls. He turns his head to the cottage, gilded with late afternoon sunset colours. John is somewhere inside, perhaps chasing Rosie around or maybe starting to prep dinner.

The domestic scene is easy to imagine: it has been a part of Sherlock's life since the reconciliation. Not quite from the start, no; Sherlock had been reluctant to abandon his place in Sussex despite longing for Baker Street, and John had reassured him he'd accept any decision. In the end, it had been so obvious: John sold the house, moved back to Baker Street (to Mrs Hudson's utter delight), and this time he'd need the room upstairs not for himself but rather for his daughter. There isn't much in the way of gardening or beekeeping in the winter, and Sherlock found himself splitting his time between Sussex and London. Holidays and long weekends were however spent in the countryside, and John looked more and more as if he belonged there, Rosie running freely on the grounds and him helping Sherlock with weeding, painting, mowing, cooking.

Slowly, steadily, they had found a new balance and become once again an item, their lives weaving into each other, a fabric of love, respect, equilibrium, tenderness. And if Sherlock never imagined he'd become a parent, it's undeniable the little girl loves him as one.

The idea fills his heart in ways he hadn't known possible. He fidgets with the contents of a pocket in his trousers.

'There's always the possibility he'll say no. I would not blame him. As I said before, he has been in this situation before and it ended in misery for all three of us. But I think he'll say yes.

'Not that I much care for other people's opinions, but it is clear there will be reactions of surprise and incredulity.' Sherlock takes a deep breath. 'But I believe most will be happy. Mummy will be ecstatic, for sure,' Sherlock punctuates with a fond eyeroll. 'Not sure how you feel about this, though.'

He turns again to his beehives and places a careful hand on a roof. 'In any case, and in the spirit of performing seemingly superfluous rituals that will in practice not affect the course of life events, I came down here to tell you, my dear bees, that I am about to go up in that house and ask John Watson to marry me. I… thought you should know. I'll still be the one taking care of you, no worries.' Sherlock gives a light tap on the sun-bleached wood. 'There's so much John is willing to do for love.'

Sherlock's breath hitches with his last word. He turns again to the cottage and takes a deep breath, his senses filling with the soft buzzing of bees, the rustling of leaves and the sweet aromas of wildflowers. He takes one step, then another. As he nears the house, he hears Rosie's cheery cackling and John's laughter through an open French door, and his heart fills to the brim with gratitude for having this in his life. A chosen family in a journey without end in sight, here or in London or wherever.

And when Sherlock's eyes, bright with determination and passion, meet John's tender gaze, he squeezes the small ring box in his pocket with the relief of a man who has finally come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime ago I read on Tumblr about an old beekeeper tradition: [Telling the bees](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telling_the_bees). While mostly associated with mourning, happier events could also be announced to the bees. Sherlock isn't superstitious, but it can't hurt either, right?


End file.
